


Everyone Wants to Feel Safe in the Dark

by GrubHubOfficial



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: ASL, Vampires, and now the implications of that, in which Lorne Malvo was a vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrubHubOfficial/pseuds/GrubHubOfficial
Summary: Everyone's two favorite hit men on some cold nights





	1. Forces Unseen Pulling Strings in your Heart

He glanced at the key that sat on his chest. He knew what it meant... It meant that this would be his only chance to leave. That he had about 10 minutes, max, to get the fuck out of dodge. Even less time before someone found the officer Malvo had undoubtedly killed to obtain the key.

Mind racing, he tried to come up with a plan. He was ready to die, but yet here he was. Fully alive on a hospital bed in the middle of fucking nowhere. Malvo had spared him, but why? Mercy from a maniac. He didn’t have time to consider the implications of Malvo’s motives. He had to act quick if he wanted to get out.

He took the key and put it into the handcuff lock. He felt the small reverb against his skin as the shackle popped open. He unlocked the other side from the bed and tucked both cuff and key into the chest pocket of his hospital gown. Carefully, he removed the IV from his arm and the heart rate monitor from his finger. He unplugged the machines from the wall in case they were beeping.

_Clothes, I need clothes. Can’t get far in this shit_ He looked down at the gown. He was so tall, it didn’t even reach his knees. He opened the closet in the room, looking for his clothes; seeing nothing but blankets.The shit he was wearing when he came was likely in an evidence bag at the police station, covered in blood.

_Great, that was my favorite jacket too._ He thought to himself as he pulled a blanket around his shoulders. _This will have to do for now._

He tread cautiously to the door, peeking around the corner. Thankfully, no one was there.He slipped down the stairs and out the back door of the hospital, into what he hoped was the employee parking lot.

The cold hit him immediately and he wished there had been time to grab a coat or shoes or something. _They weren’t kidding when they called this the blizzard of the century._ The wind whipped his face and he thought back to the gunfight with Malvo. The last time he saw Numbers. He thought about his partner, bleeding out in the snow. Dying alone and cold. Wrench felt tears welling up in his eyes and he tried to convince himself it was from the biting wind.

He clicked the unlock button and scanned for the flash of headlights, trying to ignore the tingling of frostbite already settling into his fingers. It was still snowing, and visibility was low He clicked unlock again. Still, he saw nothing. He remembered that cars made a noise when they unlocked and wished Numbers was here so he could find the damn thing faster. He clicked unlock for a third time and his eyes caught a small flash of light from a few rows back. _There it is._

_Numbers is dead._

His feet felt like they were on fire as the heat of the car began to warm them.

Numbers was dead, or so Malvo had said. He had to see for himself


	2. Stake Out

What would he gain by seeing Numbers’ body laying lifeless and cold on some sterile table? He felt like he was in a dream, aware of the repercussions his actions could have but too apathetic to change his course of action. He would go into the coroner’s office, find Numbers, and..? Then what? He hadn’t thought beyond that. He couldn’t leave him here, he realized. This man had been closer to him than anyone else. It would be cruel to resign him to whatever fate awaited unclaimed bodies. 

He couldn’t bury his partner, not here, not in this cold. He knew from experience that with the ground frozen like this a grave is impossible to dig. His mind flashed to all the times they had dropped bodies into frozen lakes. He almost smiled. The irony would not be lost on Numbers, but he wouldn’t do that to him. Besides, the ice drill was almost certainly in an evidence room at the police station. No, after all Numbers had done for him, Wrench was going to insure he was laid to rest, properly. Well, as properly as the circumstances would allow. 

Wrench breathed into his cupped hands, attempting to keep them warm. He had been staking out the coroner’s office for several hours. To keep a low profile, he had parked the stolen car nearly out of sight and turned off the engine. It was cold and the hospital gown/blanket combo he was wearing did little to alleviate the creeping numbness in his extremities. He had to get proper clothing soon or he was as good as dead. He was used to being cold, the job almost required long hours of waiting in the snow. But this was different, he didn’t even have shoes much less winter gear. 

Every single one of his instincts told him to leave. It was stupid to do this. Every passing hour meant more cops looking for him. They had his picture, for fucks sake, and he knew how easy he was to identify: tall, ginger, deaf. He should be on the road, driving far away, stealing some clothes, anything but sitting here on the edge of town, slowly succumbing to hypothermia. Staying here was a time bomb, but he had to get his partner’s body.

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and refocused on the well-kept cinder-block building in front of him. Time passed, people trickled out until only one car remained in the parking lot. 

_ No cameras and a wimpy plywood door.  _ Wrench noted. He was almost insulted by how easy it was going to be to get in. Then again, how much security did a small town coroner need? 

Soon after the sun had set, Wrench saw the lights flick off as last person walked out of the coroner’s office, pulling the door closed behind them.

_ Finally  _

After the last car had driven away, Wrench turned the ignition on and drove slowly forward. 


	3. From the van to the floor; From the earth to the morgue

Kicking down doors was easy for Wrench but, as he glanced at his bare feet, he didn’t think he should this time. Instead, he settled for a running shoulder slam. As expected, the thin wooden door popped open on the first try. 

There was no alarm, Wrench assessed, looking over the walls for some keypad that would indicate any type of security system. His bare feet felt sticky against the overly sanitized floor. It smelt surgically sterile, a familiar bleach and blood mixture. It reminded Wrench of his early days with the syndicate, of cleaning up someone else’s mess. 

He located the lightswitch. The entry area in which he stood was modest. There was a little reception desk, behind which there was only a large, metal door. 

_ He has to be back there _ , Wrench thought

He walked across the vinyl floor and tried the door, but it was locked. He exhaled deeply. This wasn’t a door that could be kicked down, or shouldered open either. He went behind the desk, prowling for keys. His eyes stopped when he saw a manila folder with large sharpie wording across the front “UNIDENTIFIED MALE, DULUTH SHOOTOUT, DO NOT AUTOPSY, FBI PICK UP WED.” His heart dropped. That had to be Numbers. He opened the file and was met with a picture of his partner, dead on a cold steel table, a large slit under his throat, his once-brown eyes fogged over, the unfocused stare of a dead man. 

Wrench felt rage fill him. How many times had he seen the same type of glazed gaze in the eyes of his hits? Never once had he considered that look with anything but indifference. But this time the gaze haunted him. Number was not supposed to be dead on a table. Numbers was better than those people, Number was not supposed to be a victim. Wrench slammed his fist onto the counter, and felt something fall onto his bare foot; his outburst had knocked a set of keys off a ring hidden beneath the counter. He angrily grabbed them, and strode across the sticky floor to the locked door. He did not want to spend anymore time than he had to in this sickly, sterile place. 

On the third key, the door opened and Wrench stormed into the autopsy area, or so he guessed. For all the time he spent dealing with dead bodies, he had never seen the bureaucratic side of it. It looked much like he imagined it would, or rather, how it had been described to him from various cheap paperback novels he had read on his long drives across the country with Numbers. There were little doors in the wall, which he assumed would open onto trays holding corpses. He assumed correctly, he realized as he saw notecard labels stuck beside the handles. It was a small coroners office but it seemed like it was a full house. He read the first name card “Chump, Don”, then, the door immediately under it, “Doe, John”. He idly wondered if the cops would ever discover Numbers’ true name. Probably not; Fargo was nothing if not thorough. Hell, it had taken him two years of working with Numbers to learn it himself. 

He braced himself for what he was about to see, grasped the cold metallic handle and opened it. He was met with refrigerated air, an opaque plastic body bag, and a transparent bag titled “evidence” laying atop it. In it, he could make out Number’s scarf, and a little of his jacket. The reality of the situation washed over him, his partner’s lifeless body was right in front of him. Wrench felt compelled to see his face, to confirm the all-too-real truth. Wrench reached for the bodybag’s zipper, he fumbled with it, fingers shaking with every single emotion that tore its way through his body. He inhaled deeply and unzipped the bag. 

He looked into the bag and gasped at what was inside. He was met not with clouded, dead eyes, but with clear eyes of an unmistakable shade of brown. Numbers’ eyes matched his gaze. Wrench shut his eyes and shook his head trying to clear the hallucination he must be having. When he opened them, Numbers was signing to him.

_ “The fuckers didn’t install any handle on the inside.” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've been away so long; I've been taking law school p seriously.  
> winter break updates coming


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